


Punishments

by bericdondarrion



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bericdondarrion/pseuds/bericdondarrion
Summary: "He had, of course, won that last game and Rafael had been on his knees ever since. "Hamburg 2008.
Relationships: Carlos Moya/Rafael Nadal, Feli/Rafa if you close your eyes
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Punishments

**Author's Note:**

> All based on actual factual things that did happen.

The best part about fucking Rafael Nadal (other than fucking Rafael Nadal) was doing it after a hard day’s work. Letting go of that little bit of tension that Carlos inevitably would build up towards every match they had because even after all these years, the kid could still make him feel every single emotion that Carlos was able to conceptualize, from anxiety to exhilaration, both in court and in bed.

Maybe this was gonna be the last time they would play against each other anyway. He could feel it in his body, with every new injury and every new pain, he knew that the end was near and in some ways that was fine, he had plans already, he was thirty three so he was still very young out there in the real world, he could open a tennis school or apply for that position at the RFET, he could become a coach, he could…

“Stop wandering off when I’m trying to suck you off, am I boring you?”, down on his knees, with his right hand on the base of his cock and an indignant expression on his face, the prize from a hard day’s work indeed.

Carlos looked down and smirked, as he sat there on the edge of the bed. He had been coming up with plenty of ideas during the day, yes, even during their match. That blue sleeveless shirt was one of his favorite outfits, it had a way to stick to Rafael’s sweaty body that made Carlos lose focus more than he usually did. He made the mistake of mentioning this months ago and of course, Rafael had been wearing it all season. 

Undoubtedly, he was wearing it right now, no shorts, just that blue shirt reaching just beneath his waist, doing nothing to cover his erection up. More than once Carlos had to stop himself from reaching down and switching places, stroke him slowly as he’d whisper something dirty into the younger man’s ear, make him close his eyes and moan as loudly as only Rafa could, making Carlos a little bit nervous that they would wake Toni up because there was no way the noise wouldn’t reach the next room.

Rafa did it on purpose, naturally, he was always amused the next morning trying to figure out how the interaction between Carlos Moyá and his uncle would go this time (he was in that particular rebellious phase where he kept trying to find ways to defy Toni, even if it was at the expense of Carlos’ life).

Where had his sweet protégé gone, and was it his fault that he had grown into such a treacherous creature from one summer to another?

Fortunately, for such a supposedly sharp man, Toni could be pretty oblivious. Rafa was always slightly disappointed so the next time he would yell something so obscene and so loud, that Carlos had to cover his mouth with his hands to try to muffle the sound, until fierceless Rafael Nadal would start licking his palm, _“What are you, five?!”_ and then laughing uncontrollably at his own actions.

Afterwards they would make good use of Carlos’ wet hand and forget about muffling any sound and the next morning another member of Rafa’s team would blush and look away when they’d meet in the halls of that particular hotel. Never Toni though, so his life was spared to live another day to fuck his nephew.

Rafa was rather quiet this time around. Hamburg has always been a special place for them after all, maybe it was indeed their last match…

His silence had nothing to do with the place however, and more with the fact that just 20 minutes ago Carlos had majorly kicked his ass at playstation. 

Carlos considered his options.

“Maybe? I don’t know, feels like you aren’t even trying, if you prefer to do something else… wanna play more FIFA?”, 

He didn’t miss Rafael’s indignant puff, how his brow furrowed and his eyes looked down and he licked his lips, concentrating on the task, as if he was about to serve for the match. Carlos contained a chuckle. He was still so easy to get worked up.

He saw him licking his lips one last time, looking like he was about to devour Carlos’ shaft entirely. Carlos would be a bit nervous if he wasn’t so damn hot inside, breathing increasing, and his time to get worked up, thoughts of retirement long gone from his present concerns; he wanted to pick Rafa up and throw him onto the mattress, hold him down and bit that tongue that was so his. 

But, this was a bet being fulfilled after all. 

3 hours ago ago Rafael was wearing his complete kit, they had just finished their match, showered (separately), Rafa changed into a fresh clean version of the same kit, then they grabbed dinner together with Rafa’s team and Luis, and went back to the hotel and into their respective rooms. Carlos waited 10 minutes for everyone to settle down and then quietly slipped into Rafael’s suite. 

And after making out in bed for about 10 minutes, they decided to play videogames, because that’s what Rafael liked to do after beating an opponent and going into the next round.

Long were the days in which he’d look down, sad and ashamed that he had beaten his shepherd. Now he’d rather await eagerly for later to find out how Carlos would punish him for his offences. Rafa did his part, his hand lingering in the small of Carlos’ back when hugging at the net, stealing a quick kiss before entering the showers, throwing glances across the table at dinner, grazing his fingers lightly against his skin when passing him the salt, giving Carlos every chance to come up with something, anything. 

He never asked where he had learnt all this, he hoped it was by reading stuff on the internet because even if they weren’t anything beyond whatever this was (they were just having sex on a regular basis and Carlos was completely lost and in love with Rafael, but it wasn’t that serious…), Rafael was still his, he found him and he was gonna keep him and fuck everyone else, specially the spanish players who weren’t that discreet in the way they’d look at _his_ Rafa (Feliciano López had a particular way to make his blood boil).

Either way, in the end he was the champion who had no other than Rafael Nadal losing miserably at FIFA and removing a piece of clothing with every lost play. By the time that only the shirt remained, Carlos stopped and said with his most serious face, “If you lose the next one you have to remain on your knees for the rest of the night”, Rafa looked back at him with an incredulous face. “You can use a cushion,'' he offered, magnanimously. 

So even if he wanted desperately to switch places and lick every part of Rafael’s body, he had, of course, won that last game and Rafael had been on his knees ever since. 

Rafael pumped slowly, from base to tip, his thumb swiping over Carlo’s slit. He smiled to himself when he heard the long moan coming from above his head. There was the vague familiar feeling of warm hands on his head, fingers threading through his hair and he knew he had Carlos where he wanted him.

He pushed Carlos’ legs open a bit more, getting into a better position between them. He huffed and ran a smooth line of that slippery, warm and wet tongue against his inner thighs, his left hand never leaving his length, his thumb still caressing over the tip.

“Okay”, the older one whined, “You made your point, you are brilliant and I’m never bored with you”. Rafa ignored him, squished a bit harder, and made Carlos involuntarily tug from his hair. 

He decided to give in because honestly, he wasn’t one to be that patient himself and if he was to remain on his knees for the rest of the night, they had a long itinerary to go through. His tongue was teasing the smooth, wet head for one last moment, suckling the base of Carlos’ cock as his warm hand fondled his balls. “I almost baggeled you and you have me on my knees” he muttered, clearly faking his resentment. “Unbelievable”. He took Carlos deeper, inch after inch of him disappearing into Rafa’s mouth. Carlos hummed as Rafa started to bob his mouth around his length, hallowing his cheeks and sucking harder, flicking his wrist around the base, pulling all the way off, and going down once again, a bit faster and deeper each time. 

He felt the fingers so, so tight in his hair and the voice above a bit louder than usual, he decided to be the bigger person and end his agony, sucking persistently before pulling off again, jerking Carlos furiously, increasing the suction of his mouth. 

Carlos’ hands tightened in Rafa’s hair, jerking his hips once or twice, and Rafa closed his eyes in anticipation an instant before the strings of come landed on his face, a few in his mouth and his hair. 

Rafael held himself against Carlos’ knees, catching his breath, breathing in the soothing noise of Carlos trying to regulate his own breathing. “And you made a mess all over my face”, he pretended to complain again, it’s not like he wasn’t licking his fingers already.

He felt Carlos moved from the edge of the bed and go down to the floor, kneeling in front of him. He cupped his face in his hands and kissed him softly, Rafa’s lips opening to him and their tongues finally brushing lightly. Carlos hummed as he drug his hands down Rafa’s thighs, his fingers wrapping around Rafa’s not so flaccid erection. “Let me work this out for you,” he whispered before finding a different angle to shove his tongue into Rafa’s mouth. Rafa’s body tingled as he whimpered into Carlos’ mouth, his cock twitched when he felt the hand reaching behind, tentative in spreading his cheeks, “Let me onto the bed”, Rafa exhaled breaking the kiss. 

Carlos caught his breath, considered for a second, clearly too wrapped up in his own need to keep going, but... “but you lost,” he said almost instantly regretting it, earning a look that reminded him of the ones he got in the court, playing against this brat. 

“Alright”, he sighed giving up, “On one condition”, he said, reluctantly letting go of the warmth between Rafa’s thighs.

He ignored Rafael rolling his eyes in such close proximity. “I’m thirsty so you need to go down the stairs and fetch me a coke, on your knees, then go back up here and then the punishment can be over,'' he said as firmly as possible, taking in with amusement the face of shock that Rafa was making. “You can put your shorts on,” he offered trying not to laugh. 

“And if someone sees me acting like an idiot in the middle of the night?”

“You lost a bet against me, how long have we been doing those?”

Rafa sighed in defeat, mostly against himself, his pride wouldn’t allow him to beg out of it, in all this time he had never refused to complete a lost bet against this, _his_ jerk and he really wanted to get back to where they were a minute ago.

“Wait here and if I hurt my knees I’ll tell Toni how it happened and I will be very specific,” his eyes were dark and his voice was low and Carlos still laughed and kissed him lightly on the lips again,

“I would gladly put my life in your hands,” Rafa scoffed, hurriedly crawling to the door, taking a breath to find his courage and opening the door, “You shouldn’t!” he yelled back before vehemently closing it. 

Carlos smiled and sat back on the bed.

Maybe this was their last match and maybe they would spend much less time together like this from now on. He decided to enjoy tonight at least, worry about the future tomorrow, go to Rafa’s semi final, cheer for him like he’s done since he was sixteen. Wait for him now, kiss his knees, play some more FIFA tomorrow. 


End file.
